Putting the neat line through the name on his crumpled piece of paper seemed to finalise the act. Now he felt like a real murderer.
Leaning over the slumped body that lay distorted in front of him, James Wright knew that from this moment his life was going to change. This piece of paper in front of him, shivering either in the light breeze or from his shaking hand, was the only thing that could possibly act as any hindrance, and yet it was such an important part of the ritual. It had been with him before he had even decided what to do about his predicament. It had just been sitting on his counter as he was on the phone, catching his tears as they slowly curled down his face. It had been such an important part of his life for the last year, almost acting as a replacement for the previously most important thing in his life. Now this piece of paper was the only thing James’ life had time for. The only thing he would make time for.
Looking at the lifeless body, and then at the equally dead lettering with the thin biro line through it, James raised up from his haunches, dismissed any idea of morality, and took several steps in the opposite direction, before breaking into a leisurely and inconspicuous jog. One down.